My last few days were spent in Hudson New York, renovating an artist studio. At first the weather ran seasonably cool and I cursed myself for not bringing a hoodie or anything else warm, however by Tuesday the temperatures crawled up into the 70s and today I walked out of the Warren Street building into the warmth of a full blown Indian Summer.

80s at 8am.

My comrades, Shannon and Charlotta, packed the van for our departure to the City and we left at noon. The sun was shining with the force of a star on the cusp of a nova. I asked Shannon to turn up the AC. He snapped up his head. We had been working long hours. He was tired. I was too. Charlotta was texting on the phone.

Traffic in New York was brutal.

Siri directed us onto the RFK Bridge and then recommended backtracking to go down the FDR Drive.

“She isn’t always right.”

“She knows the way.”

I didn’t argue with his decision. People can’t read maps and don’t know where they are most of the time.

Not everyone was a Star Boy Scout like me.

The FDR was bad.

I suggested taking the Manhattan Bridge.

The sun was blinding off the East River.

On the other bank of the river traffic was stalled to a standstill. The BQE was a parking lot. We finally arrived at Shannon’s destination. He jumped out and I off-loaded Charlotta to her appointment, while I continued to Clinton Hill. I got out of the car and said, “Damn, it’s hot.”

October 2.

The high temperature was 92.

I figured it for 85 at 3:30pm

I can’t recall an Indian Summer this warm, but then I wasn’t around in the time of the Dinosaurs.

Then 90 was a real 90.

With long teeth.